


Tirall

by FullMetamorphosis



Series: The Empire's Weapon [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 09:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14054103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullMetamorphosis/pseuds/FullMetamorphosis
Summary: "Just because *he* didn’t put stock in it doesn’t mean it’s not valuable."AKA, Unmasked Regret.





	Tirall

My hands are buzzing. All of my consciousness is restrained within the physical form of my body as the Force gathers within my limbs and tucks between my bones. Every scrap that flows into me, every living sense of it, is pulled into my form and locked into place. Made into storage space and then hidden within itself. I can feel the rapid fluttering of my eyelids, and the pull and stretch of my body. I think my lower lip is trembling. My fingers are twitching with the phantom pain, coils upon coils stuffed into each digit like taut springs.

My body is more alive than ever before, and I  _burn_.

_…den_.

It’s something so distant I can’t pick it up. I can’t read it past the simple noise. A note, a sound, something without meaning or cause. It’s static in my ears. Saliva under my tongue.

_…den, are you alright?_

A tug, a quiet one, pulling at my mind. Concern.

_G…you well…_

Somebody’s there.

I tighten my grip on the tension within my body as my muscles stay loose. I pull my mind from its abyss and back to reality. I’m suddenly aware of the sun shining through the lids of my eyes, and the prickle of grass beneath my back. I finally hear the voice for what it is.

“Commander Eden, wake up.”

I flick my eyes open. I’m startled to see the face above mine - marred by scars, callous, twisted into a look of fear.

“Ar…cann?” I blink, still within a bit of daze. I slowly reach under me and push up, minding the dizziness in my head. “Where …?”

“Commander, you seem unwell. We’re just outside the base. You were …” Arcann stops there. I look to him; he’s kneeling next to me, lines of his body all taut as always. And when I look away from him, and around, I recognize where we are. We’re still on-base, resting in the grass several yards below the main promenade. Within my trance, I’d completely lost track of space - and of time.

I put a hand to my forehead. “How long was I- well, asleep?”

“Nobody’s seen you since this morning,” he insists. “Lana told me you’d taken the day off. For the third time this week.”

“They aren’t … ‘days off’. They’re preparation,” I mutter. Before he can ask, I drop my hand look back to him with a half-formed smile. “Sorry, Arcann. Was there something you needed? Or Lana?”

“I had wanted to speak with you. Lana hadn’t been sure where you were. I thought you had a Force Bond with her.”

“Oh- yeah. Um. I haven’t been feeling well, so I had to- erm. Close it,” is my excuse. Much as I wish he would, he’s clearly not buying it, and the lift of his brow says so. I have to remind myself that Arcann’s  _traumatized_ , and  _healing_  - not a fucking imbecile. I sure was the same way when I was younger (though again, I have to remind myself, we’re the same age). Again, I change the subject quickly. “So, what did you need? Sorry you found me sleeping on the job - I’m around if you need to talk.”

He looks around, as if almost paranoid. “This … doesn’t feel like the right place.”

“Because people might overhear?” I shrug. “Honestly, I’ve never seen anybody come down here before. That you found me, even, surprises me.”

“As I said, I’d wanted to talk.”

I nod. “Go on,” I tell him. Still, he hesitates. Another quick pass to make sure we were alone, and he finally sat, cross-legged, pooling his hands in his lap. He looks awkward like this, vulnerable - so much different from the Emperor I’d fought just a few years ago,  _much_  different from the man who’d locked me up and frozen me in carbonite. He looks human. For a long time, I hadn’t even thought he  _was_  one.

More monster than man.

But, then again, I can’t say I wasn’t the same, once upon a time. (Even now.)

“I … have a gift for you.”

Now that, that really makes me start. “Really?” I can tell my eyes are lighting up even if without intent. “You didn’t have to do that, Arcann. If I’d known, I would’ve gotten something for you in return.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve given me more than enough, Commander. You’ve given me an attempt at another life. You’ve given me an attempt at redemption. That’s a gift in itself.”

“Arcann, you’re the one that gave yourself the chance. You’re the one who decided you wanted to change. I’m just your enabler,” I joke. Still, I ask, “What is it, then? I hope you didn’t go through a ton of trouble just for me.”

“I’ve left it for you at your rooms, but I did bring a picture,” He explains. Arcann pulls out a small viewing device and turns it on. I’m stunned by the image - a set of gauntlets looking as if they were made from gold, with tiny parts and pieces wired together to make a flexible-looking glove that’d cover from forearm to fingertips. It’s clearly Zakuulan-shaped, modeled after their typical attire and style, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. That, and looking - from the simple holo - extremely sturdy. And if they’d be just the right size for my hands.

To say I’m a little beyond words is an understatement.

“I’ve been working on them since I joined the Alliance,” he explains quickly, as if he has to do so as fast as he can. “I didn’t use any resources, just what I had on hand, and nothing was taken from your stocks, simply- I asked your friends for measurements, and modeled them best I could, and-”

“Arcann, you can forge metal like that? For armorsmithing?”

When I look to him, I’m surprised to see he’s  _blushing_. That, and not meeting my eyes at all. It’s harder to tell on the side of his face littered with scars, but it’s damn-near obvious on the other side. It’s stunning to even think that I’ve embarrassed him.

“I … learned from Knights of Zakuul.”

“Those look so beautiful,” I say, and I mean it. “I can’t wait to try them on. I … why didn’t you say you could do that? That’s really fantastic, Arcann. I didn’t know you were so talented with your hands.”

“It … wasn’t a skill I exercised very often. Truth be told, it’d been a long time since I forged a piece like that. Perhaps since Thexan’s death.”

I feel my expression soften with worry. “I’m guessing Valkorion wasn’t all-over the idea?”

“I was too busy. And I felt too vulnerable already. Here, I … feel freer.”

“… you should. That’s why I wanted you to come to Odessan. To heal,” I explain. I reach up and take his hand - it’s obviously shaking, and I want him to relax. When he looks over, I give him a kind smile. “They look so amazing, Arcann. Thank you. If it’s helped you feel better at all, you should continue forging. Maybe it can provide some clarity for you?”

He looks stunned himself at that. “You want me to … forge armor for the Alliance?”

“Not if you don’t want to!” I say with a rapid shake of my head. “Not for other people - for  _you_. Make what you want to, what makes you happy. I can tell you’re really proud of the work, and having something to do that comforts you is just fantastic for healing. That’s why I was so active in the cantina dance scene, and ring fighting. Helped me get my head on my shoulders.”

This time, his face scrunches up. “You … danced.”

“Well, not in a tutu and ballet slippers, but yeah. For me, it put me back in my body - gave me a feeling of power and agency. I needed those things, for my own recovery. That’s part of how I’ve healed. S’why you can see me sparring every other day in the gym,” I chuckle. “Seriously though - I appreciate it. Those gauntlets look beautiful. You have true talent, Arcann.”

He looks down into his lap again. I think I hear him mumble something, but I don’t catch it the first time. I raise a brow, and he repeats it, just a little louder: “I didn’t think it was anything special.”

“Of course it is! It’s a pretty rare skill, I-” I stop, realizing what he means. I reach up with my other hand and take his hand in both of mine. When he looks back to me, I nod, serious. “Arcann, just because  _he_  didn’t put stock in it doesn’t mean it’s not valuable. His words aren’t law - you know that. I know it’s hard to get rid of that feeling, but it’s true. Just because your father didn’t see the worth in it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

His eyes widen a little bit. I recognize the expression - probably mirrors mine back when I was realizing bits and pieces of conditioning that I’d figured out how to undo. Some kind of “click”, or epiphany. Recognizing it in somebody else’s face is refreshing. And to think that I helped get him there.

But of course, he pulls his hand back. Tucks both back into his lap again. And mutters, and mumbles, and continues to blush.

The moments like these, where Arcann’s shy and weary, were few and far between. More common when we were alone, for sure - but it feels like it reflects more of who he really is, and less of who he parades as being. Not to say his obsession with “redemption” and “atoning” was fake, but moments like these reveal more to his true feelings. It’s reassuring and a little terrifying. It wasn’t too long ago that I was in the same place, or so it feels.

But then again, my reality was skewed. I’d skipped five years that others had to live. I’d only really felt “fixed” shortly before-

Arcann finally speaks up.

“I … feel as if I still owe you much. For listening, and for being a pillar when I cannot. And you’ve been fighting many battles I haven’t had the chance to see - and another is coming, I know it. I can only hope that with these, I can still offer you some kind of protection, even if I’m not able to be there in body,” he looks back up to me, and nods. “It’s just one of the ways that I want to thank you.”

“Arcann …” I start. I stare at him, for moments longer, looking at the honesty on his face - and I finally sigh, and shake my head. “Arcann, you never need to feel like you owe me a debt. Do you understand? I care about you. I want to see you succeed.”

“And this is how I do that,” he tells me, a little more insistently, “By forging my way up, and protecting those who have offered me aid.” He nods to me, and finally looks up at the sky. “It is … getting late.”

It’s a clear end to the conversation - as if his awkwardness can’t handle it anymore. And it is getting to twilight, truly the better part of the day absorbed. I nod with him, and finally get up and stretch. “Then I accept your gift, Arcann. And … thank you. For caring.” He nods, and rises with me. I smile, and hold out my hand. “Walk back to the base with me?”

This time, I think I finally see his lips turn up, on both sides. A smile.

“It would be my pleasure, Commander.”

He takes my hand, and we walk back up to Odessan’s base.


End file.
